Cigarettes After Sex

Chapter 6

Pansy had always been particularly skilled when it came to potions. The precision, and exact measurements it required always made sense to her. It made sense that when done perfectly she could produce draught of living death, and within the same cauldron a vial of liquid luck.

Her foot steps echoed on the stone path to the dungeons, she walked into the dimly lit classroom, eager for todays lesson to begin. She was a few minutes early, which, as intended, gave her first pick of a seat. She tucked herself the back left corner of the classroom, and breathed in the cold air of the dungeon. It filled her lungs and felt like home. She missed her common room. The dark hues of green the lake cast were comforting. Her happiest moments had been spent in the Slytherin common room, under the green light.

"Ah, miss. Parkinson, your punctuality is pleasantly dependable," Professor Slughorn said, chuckling as he entered.

"Good afternoon Professor," Pansy greeted.

Eighth years starting filing in, choosing their seats, avoiding the back left corner. The class was packed with students she knew mostly in passing, and Potter. And in some peculiar twist of fate he walked towards the back left corner and sat next to her. There were other seats open, in the front of the class, next to other Gryffindors. Finnegan and Thomas were sitting next to each other with an empty desk adjacent to their right. But he was sitting next to her.

"Parkinson," he greeted with a curt smile. Granger had probably told him to be nice to her, Pansy was sure that was it. The meddling witch had become taken with the idea of house unity, friendship blossoming out of the rubble of the war. She'd overheard her and Daphne talking about it one night in their dorm. Daphne was all for it, but Pansy was suspicious of Grangers generosity, and her willingness to forgive. Had Pansy been in her shoes she would have cast her away, thrown her to the dogs.

It was no mystery that a majority of the Slytherins had chosen power over virtue. Many students were outraged when they realized they would be allowed to return for eighth year. She couldn't blame them, her own father had been responsible for Colin Creevys slow and painful death.

Her last name plagued her, it was the only remaining connection, aside from her pure blood, to her parentage.

So she kept her distance from the Golden trio, with the exception of Grangers Friday night study group, and apparently, now, potions.

"Potter," she spoke, her blank face concealing her inner turmoil, "why are you sitting with me?"

"It's no mystery that you're the best at potions," he shrugged, continuing "-and if I'm going to be an auror I need at least 'exceeds expectations'," as he spoke he removed books from his bag settling them on the table Pansy used to occupy alone.

"ah," she said nodding, turning her gaze away, realization setting in.

The chosen one needed her help

A peculiar twist of fate indeed

In reality Harry didn't need any N.E.W.T.s to become an auror, he only needed his name, and status. He would've started his training this year had the Ministry not mandated they complete their Hogwarts education first. Harry assumed it was just a ploy to keep a close eye on the 'reformed' students residing in Slytherin house.

Class progressed, the eighth years had spent the first weeks of school in review. Some in the room, Pansy, were well versed in the information, others were not. Harry had spent the last year elusively evading death in the search of Horcruxes, in the search of an end to the pain and suffering plaguing the wizarding world, and Pansy had been in class.

Professor Slughorn instructed them to work in pairs, to concoct an Amortentia potion. She worked quickly, only slowing briefly to stir the mixture thirty seconds clock wise. Potter watched her, he memorized her movements, the delicacy she used when handling the rose thorns, and the way her dainty hands plopped the ashwinder eggs into the cauldron without a drop splashing up at them. This was definitely different than when he worked with Ron, or even Hermione. Surprisingly, they worked well together, Pansy did all the work and Harry read the instructions, she knew by heart, aloud.